“I said talk, not suck face.” I snort. “Though, you’re probably right, you’ll impress them with all your hockey knowledge and then,bam, they’ll fall in love and try to sleep with you. You let me know so I can kill them.”
I grin. “Of course, Dad. I’ll tell you about all the guys who hit on me.”
His voice is playful but stern. “Good. Have fun. I love you, Ro.”
I smile, my heart warming. “I love you too, Dad.”
“Be safe.”
“I am.”
I tuck my phone into my pocket as I lean back to look at the sky once more. I smile to myself at the thought of finding my people. I don’t know if they’re out there, and honestly, I’m sick of trying to make myself a space at all these damn tables where people look at me like I’m not good enough.
I am good enough.
“Less teeth. Girl, what are you doing? Stop trying to stop me. You said I could fuck your mouth.”
Laughter sputters out of me, and I look over at where the gruff voice came from. As bright as the moon, a pair of thick ass cheeks clenches as the owner of said ass cheeks makes a sound of distress. I look around in shock, finding that the other couples who are out here have wide eyes, and they quickly go inside.
I look back as the guy backs up, fixing his jeans. “I’m not getting the rhythm. Let’s make out,” the girl suggests.
No joke, the guy puts his hand on her head, stopping her forward motion, and says, “Chick, fuck no. I don’t kiss on the mouth, and you suck at sucking dick.”
Damn, I can’t help but flush with embarrassment for the girl.
That is, until she lets out a shrill, “Let me try again!”
I’d know that shrill cry anywhere.
The guy moves away just as Grace P. tries to stand, but she wobbles on her sky-high heels. Her mascara is in streaks down her face, along with her tears. Her mouth is swollen, her cheeks red, and I feel awful for her. I can tell she’s drunk, but also, she’s mortified. I don’t know why it surprises me that Dawson Sinclair is the guy fixing the front of his pants, but it does. I knew she was on a mission, and good for her to get what she wants, but damn, even I’m burned by his rejection.
What an asshole.
The whole situation is wild to me. It’s like when everything is so wrong and all you can do is laugh to ease all the tension. Which is why I let out a nervous giggle at the sight before me. Grace P.’s eyes whip to me, her jaw dropping a bit when she realizes I’m a witness to her lowest moment. I try to give her a reassuring smile, but then she glares with all the rage in her body.
As if I’m the one who said she sucks at giving head.
I smile. “Told you it wasn’t a rite of passage.”
She growls at me. Like a fucking dog. “Fuck you, Ambrosia. You’re just jealous!” she spits, and yeah, I snort.
“Jealous? Of what?”
“Of the fact that no one would want your ugly, fat-ass self to suck their dick! You try to act like you don’t want anyone, but we all know it’s because you can’t land anyone.”
Wow. Before I can tell her to practice giving head on a cucumber, Dawson’s rough voice cuts through the air. “Hey, what the fuck is your problem? Don’t talk to her like that.”
I gawk at Dawson, and she does the same.
What the hell?
Grace P. recovers way faster than I do. “What? She is!”
“No, she’s not. You are,” he spits back as he sways a bit. He’s obviously drunk, yet he’s defending me. “Ugly, that is.”
Weird.
“You don’t know her!” Grace P. tries, but he waves her off.
